


Curiosity Kills the Cat, But Satisfaction Brings it Back

by Apricots_from_Nara



Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Alternate Universe - Cell Wins, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Morbid, Mystery, Romance, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apricots_from_Nara/pseuds/Apricots_from_Nara
Summary: Its been 200 years since the world almost ended. You live in a little fishing town on an old harbor, filled with old rusting ship wrecks and a single island no one goes to. One day, when you go fishing, you end up having to run ashore on the island. While there, you meet a very interesting character.
Relationships: Cell (Dragon Ball)/Reader, Cell (Dragon Ball)/You
Comments: 5
Kudos: 104





	Curiosity Kills the Cat, But Satisfaction Brings it Back

Your little harbor town was a nice one.

The docks were rotting, and old rusting ships sat as monuments to a civilization no longer at its peak, but you saw a lot of things here, and it was the closest thing to a city this region had.

And as unsightly as the rusting ships were, they acted as a natural barrier to large sea dwelling reptiles. You still got dinosaurs, but at least the waters were moderately safe now.

Something had, two hundred years before, caused a collapse. It was agreed something had killed many people, and had left the world fractured. A once unified world government was gone, and cities were left mostly empty.

What was not agreed however was what did it. The craziest tales, told by the oldest people you knew, said it was a monster who ate people and only left behind their clothes. A monster that could destroy a whole city block in only an instant. 

That sounded ridiculous to you.

Regardless, the world left behind was no longer what it was. It was not pre-tech. It was just that not everyone knew a lot about it, and things were no longer produced at the scales it used to be. So much technology from before was in capsules and not everyone knew how those worked.

You certainly didn’t but you could get engines to run with a little elbow grease and a smack with a wrench.

You pulled your boat out of the shed by the docks, tossing your fishing pole and tackle box inside. You waved to the dock hand, who was trying to replace rotting wood, and he waved back.

You gave your engine a look over, and satisfied that it would hold up, you pulled your boat into the water, then with some rope, led it to sit alongside the dock. You stepped in and with a few good yanks on the pull cord, fired the engine up.

You headed off to where you liked to fish the most, near a fully submerged wreck. Sometimes your line got snagged, but the wreck acted as a home for fish. You cast your line, pulled your hat down to cover your face from the sun, and sat back.

Time to wait.

You day dreamed about various things. Nothing too extreme. But the hope to one day afford a capsule that had a scooter inside it and be able to travel farther than you could on a bike or foot. They were the least expensive model of capsule that one could still find.

Still extremely expensive, but they were pretty common still, unlike car, or house ones. Common enough you could be lucky to find one.

You glanced over to an island that was in the harbor. Overgrown, and through the trees a half collapsed mansion just visible. You started daydreaming about that. No one really went there, and you wondered what was inside. Maybe it still had most of its appliances inside it. It would make for good scavenging. Maybe it even had some paintings that you could take home and use for your house.

You finally got a tug, and so you focused on the task at hand. Getting some fish to eat, and smoke, for the next few days.

You caught three, one decently sized, and so you figured you might as well head home. You tugged your cord again, and it snapped off in your hand. You stared at the cord in your hand, the frayed ripped end mocking you.

You had three choices. Sit there and hope you were spotted and picked up, take your paddle and go back to the mainland, which was pretty far out, or use the paddle to go to the island and set up a fire so you could be spotted and hopefully picked up.

The island was closer, and that whisper of adventure sang to you. It was your chance to stick your nose in that mansion and see what was in there.

You took out your paddle and began moving yourself to the island. It was tiring work, and when you ran aground, your arms burned. Still it was land.

You pulled off your boots and socks, and rolled up your pants, hopping out of the boat and carefully pulling it onto the beach. You dragged it where you assumed the tide would not reach it, and then dusted the sand off your feet, pulling your socks and boots back on.

Once sure everything was secure, you headed into the brush, picking up dead, dry looking bits of brush to hopefully use for the fire. Survival first, exploring later. Once you had your pile of sticks and brush, you finally allowed yourself to look for a way to the mansion.

You didn't really need to worry about water or food. You had your fish, and you had a filled to the brim gallon jug of water, with a basic knowhow of looking for more.

You found a paved overgrown path and followed it up the slope, and slowly the mansion came into view. The front of the building partially collapsed, but there was no rubble to be seen. That got you curious. Someone was caring for the place. You looked for a safe place to step into, and after a while found a way in.

Again there was no rubble. Anything that would have been too rotted was removed, and it seemed like someone was doing patch work to keep it from rotting more, much like the people who were keeping the docks from fully rotting away.

Someone lived here.

The fact you probably were not alone became more apparent as when you peeked into a room, you saw a painting on the wall.

It was, unlike the rest of the house, in immaculate condition. Not a bit of varnish was yellowing or cracking. Not a single spot of mold or rot.

The painting was of the shoreline of the mainland.

The more you poked, the more paintings you found. An old boot on the shore, the mansion itself, a few flowers, a bird nesting on some rocks, the ruins of a city, a fat seal sunbathing.

You liked the seal.

Whoever painted them seemed to paint what they saw, and they had great skill. All the paintings were beautiful in their own way.

But one painting upset you more than awed you.

It was of a man on the sand, seaweed all around him. His skin was almost translucent looking, and his eyes slightly open. The way he laid on the sand was haphazard and uncomfortable, and that in turn made you uncomfortable.

You stepped away, and went back to looking at the painting of the fat seal. It was a nice one. You admired it a bit longer, looking at the signature in the corner.

Cell.

Before you could wonder about the artist, you heard the floor creak. The hair on your arms stood on end, and you looked out of the corner of your eye.

A man was standing at the end of the hall, or at least they looked like a man. The shape was male. Masculine face, broad chest, and narrow waist. But he was covered in what looked like armor, with large black wings, and a crest that brushed the water stained ceiling.

The armor was green and spotted, his skin pale like a corpse, but he was clearly alive, given that he blinked after a moment, and his expression was clearly one of annoyance.

You were startled but not scared. You had seen animal people before, and you just assumed it was one of some sort.

“What are you doing in here?”

“I am sorry. My boat's engine broke, and I paddled over here.”

He snorted. His pink eyes flicking over you a moment.

You motioned to the painting. “Did you paint all of these?”

He folded his arms over his chest, and the wings moved. “I did. What do you think?”

“So you are Cell?” you turned to him and stepped a little closer, “I love them! They are so beautiful.”

That seemed to please him, his annoyed scowl turning into a smug smirk. He looked you over again. “Yes. I am Cell.” He held his chin, “Well… You have amused me. Perhaps you would like to be painted. I am missing a human woman in my collection.”

“Missing?”

Cell motioned to the painting of the man. “The man. He is the only human I have ever finished painting.”

You glanced at it again. “Will I be posed like he is?”

He snorted, finger pressing to his upper lip as his shoulders heaved in his suppressed laughter. “That man is not posed. He is dead. He washed up on the shore and I painted him. I paint what I see, as long as it catches my eye.”

Aah… Now everything about the painting made sense. You leaned away from it a little. “Well as long as I am not dead for the pose… Sure you can paint me.”

“You won’t be dead.” He led you to a room that was well lit by the sun, and he sat you on a stool.

You fidgeted as he fiddled with your hair and clothes, taking your hat off, and styling your hair a little. Once he was satisfied he pulled an easel and canvas up from against the wall, opening the paint pots that sat in front of it.

He began to mix his paints, and started. He glanced at you once, then after that he only looked at the canvas. He moved the brush rapidly over the surface, his tongue sticking out a few times in his concentration.

It was purple.

It took maybe an hour and a half, which was to you ridiculous. You had always assumed it took hours, maybe days, to paint. He stepped away and turned it to you.

“Well, what do you think?”

It was you. Simple as that. It looked as lovely as the rest of the paintings, and so you loved it like you did most of them. “It's perfect. I don’t think I have ever seen myself look better.”

Your genuine adoration seemed to win him over. He smirked at you, going over to another painting that was leaning on the wall. He held it out to you. The painting was of the treeline and the ocean beyond it. You took it eagerly, smiling up at him. “Is it for me?”

“Yes. You can sell it if you-”

“No! I’m going to hang this up in my house.”

Cell seemed to love your attention and praise, so much so he agreed to get you back to the mainland. You thought he had a boat, but instead he had you prepare your boat. He stood in it as you sat at his feet, and suddenly, you were propelled forward, zipping across the water like you were on a high powered motorboat.

Your hair whipped behind you and your eyes watered a little bit. But before you knew it, you were running aground near the docks. You wiped your eyes, looking up at him in the fading light.

“Thank you.” you said.

He chuckled, glancing down at you again. “Remember this for next time. Curiosity killed the cat.” and with that, he turned and lifted off your boat. You watched in awe as he flew away, back towards the island.

You hung your painting up, and you admired it in the fluorescent lights of your house. And though Cell had seemingly warned you, you knew you had to go back.

You dug into your stash of money to buy a gift for him as well, as well as a new cord for your engine. You had a feeling he would enjoy it. You wrapped it up carefully, and you got odd looks when you loaded it up on your little boat carefully. 

It was almost as long as it was.

You pulled your boat onto the shore, and got your gift, slowly making your way up the path. You squeezed your way into the mansion, and called for him. “Cell?”

“You came back I see.”

He was behind you, and you were not sure how he got there. You turned carefully, smiling at him. “I got you a gift, as a thank you for the painting.”

He snorted. “A gift? Alright. Show it to me.”

You rested the tall object against the wall, and then pulled the fabric off it.

Your gift to him was a mirror. 

Cell’s pink eyes seemed to brighten when he saw his reflection, tilting his head a little as he approached it, leaning in closer to observe his face as he made a few expressions.

“I noticed you have not painted anything of yourself. So I used some of my money to buy a mirror for you.”

“I have never seen myself…” he said quietly, lifting a hand to touch his face. He pulled his lower eyelid down, then felt it along his jaw.

“What do you think?” you leaned in a little closer, a brow raised curiously.

Cell glanced at you, before looking at his reflection again. “I don’t know... “

“Well, I do believe that one would consider you handsome.” you said matter of factly, “And you have a good physique too.”

“I would assume so… I was made to be perfect.” He stepped away and turned, flexed his wings, observing his back as he craned his neck to look over his shoulder.

“You were made? What does that mean?”

Cell ignored you, finally done with looking at himself and making his way to the room where he had painted you.

You sat on a chair behind him, and watched as he painted. Mixed the colors and rapidly filled in the canvas. Slowly his face emerged from the strokes of paint, until he finally seemed satisfied.

Just like your portrait, it was immaculately done, not life like really, but so clearly him. He looked at it for a moment, before putting his signature in the corner. He turned and looked at you. “What do you think?”

“It's incredible.” you stepped closer to look at it more closely, “You captured yourself wonderfully.”

Cell smirked, turning the painting around to face the sun more fully to dry faster. He then looked at you. “Do you want it?”

You were confused. “You don’t want to keep a painting of yourself?”

“I don't need it. I have the mirror.”

“Don’t you want to capture yourself in your prime?”

“I’m always in my prime. I do not age.” Cell mused, smirking at you in an insufferable, but oddly attractive way.

“Oh… Well… I guess the mirror would do fine then.” You mumbled.

Cell stepped away from the easel, and motioned for you to follow him. He led you down the ivy covered stairs and opened a door under them.

A basement.

You clutched your hands to your chest and looked at him nervously, goosebumps appearing on your arms. “What is down there?”

“The wine cellar, you silly girl.” He held his hand out to you, and after a moment you took it.

He led you down, and like the rest of the place, it was half rotted, like it had been found in a state of decay, but then suddenly it was stopped. He went to a rack filled with wine, musing over the bottles. He took one finally, and held it out to you.

“You have given me quite the gift, so perhaps you will have a drink with me?”

You had never had wine, only some moonshine made from apples or peaches. It wasn’t a luxury persay, people still made it, but it had just never crossed your path yet. You grinned excitedly, and nodded. “I would love a glass.”

You both went back up stairs, taking you to what you assumed was his room, and he produced two wine glasses. Unlike the house, they were immaculate, with not a scratch or smudge. He opened the bottle, and proceeded to pour you both a fair amount of wine. “I have found I rather like wine.” he explained, “I guess that comes from Frieza.”

“Who?”

“It's no one important.” He handed the glass to you, then held the glass up as he smirked. “Cheers.”

You held your glass up as well. “Cheers.” you took a sip, and it was not what you expected. You expected something special with how everyone raved about it, but in truth you found it bitter and dry.

Still you drank it all, as it was the polite thing to do. You noticed another painting, though this one was covered in mold spotted cloth. You approached it, looking at him over your shoulder. “Is this yours too?”

“It is. I hope for it to be my greatest work, as such… I am not satisfied with it, no matter how much I poke at it. I want to finish it soon so i can move on to the next one.” He noticed your obvious curiosity, and he chuckled lightly, “You want to see it?”

“Please!”

He set his glass down, and flipped the fabric up. You were met with a disturbing painting. A boy. No more than 13. Blue eyes and blond hair, his face battered and bruised. His face full of despair and hopelessness as he looked head on at the viewer. You grimaced at it. 

It was more unsettling than the painting of the dead man.

“This is going to be your greatest work?” You asked.

“I can’t get the expression just right.” Cell said, flipping the fabric back over the canvas.

“I think I prefer the seal.” you said, and Cell laughed, taking your glass and pouring you more wine.

When you finished, Cell left and when he returned, he presented you his self portrait. You thanked him, and like the last one, you intended to keep it and hang it in your little home.

You hung it next to your bed, and that night, you saw his face as you dozed off.

You did not go back for a week. You were a little disturbed. Cell told you he only painted what he had seen. Which meant he had seen that boy. He had seen him make that face. It made you wonder how Cell had come to see such a hopeless expression.

Still you could not stay away for long. You returned to the island, a bottle of your favorite moonshine with you to give to him to try. Maybe he would like it like you did.

You held it out to him when you caught him on the pathway. He was looking at a few flowers that were growing through the paving stones of the path.

“What is that?”

“It's my favorite moonshine that my neighbor makes with her apples.” You pushed it into his hands. “I want to share what I like with you, too.”

He looked at you quizzically. But then nodded. “Alright.” 

He led you to a room you had not seen yet. A den it looked like. There was an old rotting stuffed dinosaur head above a crumbling fireplace. The room was dark, ivy growing over the window, but Cell lit a few candles, enough to brighten the room so that it was not a strain to see him.

He got old shot glasses, and you poured some in one for him, and to the brim for yourself. “This stuff is very strong. That wine didn’t do anything for me, but this…” You tossed your head back and downed the glass in one gulp.

It was sweet, the mixture mostly sugar, spices, and the alcohol made from the apples. It was also strong, burning your throat.

Cell sipped his, and he made a face that indicated it was better than he thought it would be.

You had about five shots, and were feeling loose and warm inside. Cell sat across from your spot on the old couch, resting on a modified chair, the back broken off so his wings had space. You smiled at him, chin resting on your palm. “So do you use nail polish?”

He lifted his hand, looking at his nails a moment. “No. They are just this color naturally.”

“And your cheeks are natural too?”

“Nothing about me is ‘natural’ but I suppose if you are asking me if it's makeup… No. it's just the color they are.”

“And that armor… Can you take it off?”

Cell made an annoyed sound. “Well, come take this ‘helmet’ off me and see for yourself.”

You stood up, stepping up to Cell and slipping your fingers under the ridge of the helmet. You gave a yank, but it remained in place. In fact, Cell didn't even budge. You tried again, and it was like trying to lift a boulder. It, and he, didn't even shift.

You felt along his jaw, around that jaw strap, trying to find where it unbuckled, but you found no real way to get your fingers under it.

“Are you done yet?” he asked boredly.

“It's not coming off.” you huffed, leaning on him and prodding the armor on his shoulder.

“It doesn't. It's a part of me. Nothing about me is removable.”

“It looks removable though.” You flopped onto his lap, and he gave you an incredulous look. 

“Well it isn’t.” He watched as you took his hand in yours and you examined his hand carefully.

He moved you back onto the couch. “Perhaps you have had enough.” he said, pulling the bottle away, but you grabbed it. 

“Nah. I can have at least eight more shots of this.” You poured yourself more, and downed it.

The rest of the night was a blur.

You slowly woke up the next morning, a killer headache making you wince and the last clear memory you had being your declaration you could drink more. 

You were not on the old couch, instead in crisp slightly old sheets. You sat up with a jolt, and you found yourself in your bed. You hopped out and pulled on your old ratty flip flops you had found long ago washed on the beach, and hurried outside.

Your boat was in the shed.

That meant he knew where you lived. Where you kept your boat. He had observed you, and knew more than he let on.

You were a little weirded out, but also intrigued. You wondered how he could have observed you without you seeing. Surely he would stick out like a sore thumb.

You did not go back right away, giving it a week before you headed back out. It was summer now and it was warmer. You went out in shorts, a tank top, and a blouse to keep the sun off your skin. As always you brought your raincoat, you never knew when it would rain.

Cell was as amused as always when he met you at the top of the ivy covered stairs. “You just keep coming back.” he mused, rubbing his chin.

You pulled off your hat, grinning at him. “I like seeing you paint, and I guess you are fun to talk to.”

“I am afraid that I have nothing to paint.” Cell sighed sadly, “I have hit a bit of an artists block.”

“Well paint me again.” You posed a little, and Cell rolled his eyes.

“I only paint a subject once.” Cell scolded like you were a child.

You pouted at him. “You are never the same person you were yesterday.”

He looked mildly surprised, then he chuckled. “My my. What a wise thing to say. Well then if you insist… Pray tell how you will make the next one different?”

You chewed your finger in thought before you went to an old chair, and dragged it over to where the sun shined through a hole in the roof. You took your coat off from around your waist and draped it over the faded fabric, then went to the buttons of your blouse.

You paused a moment, before undoing the buttons, shrugging it off your shoulders and folding it next to the chair.

You undid your belt, and kicked off your boots. The rotting wood felt odd under your feet. Soon you were just in your bra and panties, and unsure, you looked over your shoulder at him.

Cell had no expression on his face at all. He just looked at you, head tilted to the side ever so slightly. You were not sure if you found the fact he wasn’t emoting easier to go through with your idea, or harder.

You went this far. Better to take that last step. You reached behind yourself and undid your bra, rolling it off your shoulders, before sliding your panties down your hips and legs. You set both on top of your folded clothes, and then sat yourself on your coat. The smell of mold hit your nose, and you hoped the coat would keep the gross stuff off you.

You posed yourself, and then smiled at him. “How is this?”

“I will admit. It is something new.” Cell turned to his canvas and began to mix his paints.

The sun kept you warm and you rested your head on your shoulder. Cell worked fast, so you knew you would not be posed for too long. Still, it was long enough for you to doze off.

You dreamed an odd dream. The boy from Cell's unfinished ‘masterpiece’ stood before you, battered and bruised, and an arm dead at his side. His gaze was not hopeless like the painting tried to capture, but steely and determined.

He raised his hand to you, his palm glowing as he opened his mouth to speak, but Cell’s voice came out. Demanding you to ‘wake up’.

And so you did. You lifted your head and blinked blearly at Cell who was crouched in front of you. His lips parted in a grin that showed teeth, almost sickeningly sweet and as condescending as any other ‘smile’ he gave you. “Did you sleep well?”

“I guess… At least enough to dream a little bit.”

“Dream? And what did you dream of?”

“The boy from that painting.” You rubbed your eyes, and noted Cell leaned in even closer to you.

“You dreamed of Gohan?”

So Cell knew the boy by name? “I guess…” You uncrossed your legs, though you crossed them again when you remembered you were naked. “How is the painting?”

“It’s good I suppose.” Cell stood and sauntered over to the easel and turned it towards you. There you were. Asleep and naked. He captured you as well as he did anything else. It was beautiful.

“I can definitely say you captured the best side of me.”

He made an affirmative sound. He looked at the painting with more emotion than he did at you. You felt hurt. You had to admit you were charmed by him, found him attractive. A crush you guessed.

“Do you think I am pretty?”

He looked at you from the corner of his eyes, a brow raising. “Pardon?”

You swallowed. “Do you think I am pretty? When you look at me, what do you see?”

He smirked at you, condescending as ever. “When I see you, I see a silly little girl.”

You got hot in the face and folded your arms over your chest, the embarrassment of being naked suddenly bearing down on you full force. “I am not a little girl. I am a woman. I take care of my home, my garden, and my boat all on my own. I can shoot a gun-”

“I am not impressed by guns.” Cell splayed his hand on his chest, chuckling, “I am impressed by things that sadly humanity can barely do now.”

“Like what?” you snapped back, and your snippyness seemed to only humor him.

He turned and lifted his hand. An old rotting lamp lifted off the table it sat on and proceeded to fling past you and into the brush below. You looked at him in awe.

“Did you do that?”

“I did. And I must admit. I missed having an audience to my abilities.” He moved to stand next to you, holding out his hand.

Something glowing began to form in his palm, just like Gohan in your dream. It grew until it was as big as a soft ball. He fired it, and you watched it go towards an old rusting ship that sat on a sand belt.

There was a flash of light, and you watched the ship and the sandbelt vanish in an explosion. The shockwave hit and made you stagger. You might have fallen into the bushes below, had Cell not wrapped his arm around you.

“Maybe when I grow bored with painting, I will teach people how to do that again.” Cell mused, looking down at you. He tilted his head, curiosity on his face, “That didn’t scare you?”

You were not scared at all. You were awed. “Why would I be scared of something so incredible?”

“Hmph… If I had not known you better, I would be getting suspicious of all this praise.”

Early summer soon became late summer. It was hotter now, and the mansion Cell lived in started to become far too uncomfortable to linger in.

It also didn't smell too great.

You convinced Cell to paint on the beach. The wind from the ocean made things cooler. Still it was warm enough you shed your clothes to swim naked in the ocean. You were sure to be careful not to spend too long in the sun, and slathered a clay mixture the fishermen claimed worked just as good as the old stuff they used in the past.

The water was cold, but you got used to it quickly. You were sure to reapply the sunscreen when you felt you needed it. Finally after two hours you climbed out of the water and up the beach. Cell looked up from his painting, smirking.

“Getting sleepy?” he asked, motioning you to stand next to him.

You did, and saw he had painted you again. Frolicing naked in the waves. You looked up at him. “You painted me three times? I must be a muse or something to you.”

Cell snorted, putting his signature on the corner like all the others. 

“Cell… Do you think I am pretty?” you asked again. It had been a few weeks since you had last asked him, and you wanted to ask again.

He gazed at you a moment before he looked away, out over the open ocean. “You are fairly symmetrical.”

You deflated a little, folding your arms over your chest again. “What does that mean?”

“Symmetry is considered attractive.” Cell explained, smirking as he ran his fingers over his chin, “For example, I am symmetrical. My face, my form.”

He looked you over a moment. “Your breasts are fairly symmetrical, as is your face. It's not common for humans to be that way.”

You realized he was, in a rather clinical way, telling you he thought you were pretty. Before you could say anything he spoke again.

“It's going to storm.” he said, and when you looked out over the water, you saw approaching storm clouds.

“I would prefer you stay here until it passes. Go get dressed. We will head in. I can scrounge something for you to eat up.”

You knew Cell could take you home in a matter of minutes. But you had a feeling he was subtly inviting you to stay the night with him. So you did as he said, pulling on your top, panties, and boots, and following him back to the mansion.

He took you to his room again. Now that you had time to look at it, it was different then the rest of the house. While most of the house’s decay was merely halted, here it was reversed. It had a clean ceiling, clean painted walls, and the hardwood flooring was shiny and safe for you to walk on. It had a nice rug, a well maintained and large bed, clean and fresh sheets. It didn't smell bad either, though the faint hint of mold still crept in from the rest of the house.

You also noted the painting of the boy, Gohan, was no longer in the room. Thank god. He was probably working on it again, and had moved it.

“It won't leak water in here will it?” you asked, watching as Cell opened a window to let in fresh air.

“I keep what remains of the roof in working condition.” he explained. “You rest in the bed. I will bring you something to eat and drink.”

He left, and you dusted the sand off yourself, and pulled off your clothes. You slipped under the covers. It had many pillows. Too many to be practical, but so many it was fun. 

You buried your face in a pillow. It smelled vaguely like the fire ants that were often on the beach. Acidic and citrusy. It smelled like him, meaning he did use it from time to time.

The sky darkened, and soon it began to rain and rumble with thunder. You got up and closed the window to keep the rain out. It was hard to see in the room now, so you looked for matches.

You pulled open a drawer, and sitting among fabric was an orange orb about the size of a large orange. You tilted your head and picked it up. It was very pretty, and inside you could see a single star.

You recalled one of the now passed older men back in town talking about them. They granted wishes. Or something like that. Dragon Balls. Cell was lucky to have one if they did grant wishes. You set it back in the drawer, and went back to looking.

In the end you found no matches, and recalled Cell never used them. He did something with his fingers to light the candles, so you got back in the bed and waited.

Cell returned when it was so dark you could not see much of anything. He lit a few candles, and then presented you with sliced fish of various kinds. All raw, and your jug of fresh water that you always brought with you when you came to the island.

You ate the raw fish, and drank your water. It was simple yet rather delicious. You wondered if he knew how to cook. You rolled over to look at him, your head resting on one of the many pillows.

“Will you kiss me now?” you asked, smiling cutely at him.

The corner of his mouth lifted, and he leaned in, his lips brushing yours. You leaned in, pressing your lips more firmly against his. You felt his frame shake in a suppressed laugh, and he moved from his spot beside the bed to crawl in over you.

His usually aloof and calm demeanor was shed, and he kissed you with fever that you were not aware he had. Maybe he liked you far more than you thought. Maybe he thought about this for weeks like you did.

He pulled the sheets off you, his hands running over your skin with feather light touches. He left open mouth kisses on your skin, his tongue dragging along your neck so slowly it made you shiver. His hands moved to slide under you, fingertips digging into the skin of your back as he pulled you closer to him, his open mouth kissing moving from your neck to your collar, and lower still.

His tongue lavished attention on your chest, and you tilted your head back and moaned softly. A hand on your back moved down, giving your rear a squeeze, before moving to push one of your legs aside. He stopped sucking on a breast long enough to speak.

“Tell me what feels best.”

Unlike the kissing and attention on your breasts, this felt more awkward. His fingers fumbled against your clitoris, touch unsure and hesitant. You moved your other leg aside, your fingers massaging the back of his neck.

You blushed a moment. “Little circles.”

He obeyed, soft fingertips circling around your clit. You sighed and slowly little tingles of pleasure crept its way low in your belly. “Kiss me more.” you demanded, and Cell kissed his way back up your chest, his mouth soon over yours.

You tilted your head and opened your mouth, your tongue pressing past his lips. Cell rumbled in a pleased way, mirroring your actions, his fingers circling your clit faster. You turned your face away from him, giggling.

“Well, come on, I want to help you along too.”

He kissed your jaw, giving it a soft little bite. “If that is what you want.”

Your hand moved down south, the tips of your fingers touching the head of his shaft. It was wet and slimy. You ran your fingers over it more, and it felt vaguely human shaped. Human enough you had a good idea what he would like.

You spread your legs more, turning your head so you could catch his mouth in another kiss. You took him in your hand and started stroking, and Cell shuddered, another pleased rumble emitting from deep in his chest.

You honestly wanted to do more for him, but you had an inkling that Cell was not very experienced, despite the confidence he had going into this. Best take it easy the first time.

You were feeling gooey between your legs now, so you lifted your legs to rest your heels along the back of his hard thighs, trying to guide his hips closer to yours. He laughed in that insufferable way, a hand moving to grab your hip.

He said nothing, and merely did what you wanted. The hot head of his shaft brushed against you, then slid in easily. There was a delicious feeling of being stretched and you could not help but moan.

You rested your hands on his sides, feeling his obliques flex under your fingers as he rocked his hips into you. His face pressed to the top of your head, and you pressed yours into his neck, sucking on his pallid skin.

Each thrust made your breath hitch and your toes curl. Cell adjusted his hold on you.

“I have realised that I don’t actually know your name.” He said, his voice hitching a little when a deep thrust made you clench around him.

He was right. He didn’t know your name, it had been months since you met him, and your conversations had never led to such an exchange. How bizarre it was that he did not know your name, and yet here the two of you were, having sex.

You leaned in to what assumed was his ear, and you told him your name. He hummed thoughtfully, craning his neck to kiss your forehead.

“I will try to remember it.”

You pouted at him, and he laughed.

His hips moved faster, and you couldn’t keep your pout up, hands moving to brace on his back. You did your best to follow his speed. He openly moaned, one of his hands moving to grab one of your legs and push them to your chest. The angle changed, and he was now actively hitting your g-spot just right.

You grinned blissfully, moaning loudly as your back arched a little. You sighed his name, and he groaned yours. That climax built up a little faster now, and your nails dragged down the hard chitinous armor of his back.

“Cell, I love you.”

He shuddered, and with a deep thrust you came, shaking as he kept going until you felt him cum inside you. He gave a few more rocks of his hips, before he finally stopped, his breath a little ragged. He pulled away so he could look at you, his hand cupping your cheek.

“.... If you had told me two hundred years ago that I would be here… I would have laughed at you.” he pulled out, and though you missed the feeling of him filling you, the kiss he gave more than made up for it.

You assumed it was his own way of saying he loved you back. He could barely say you were pretty after all.

He settled by your side, his hands caressing your breasts still, leaning down to kiss the sides of them. You giggled, a little surprised he was not tired like most men were. You however were tired, so you gently pushed him off you, yawning for effect.

“We can do it again in the morning if you want.” you said quietly, settling into the mattress and many pillows.

Cell hummed, pulling the sheets over the both of you. He settled on his chest, spare pillows piled under his chest and head. His eyes closed, and almost instantly they began to dart around behind his lids as if he was in rem sleep.

“Damn… You fall asleep fast.” you mumbled, though you blinked when he replied.

“I am not sleeping. I am image training.”

“Oh…” You had no idea what that meant. You rolled over and fell asleep, the distant sound of thunder oddly soothing.

You woke up content and warm. Not uncomfortably so, but it was a toasty happy sort of warm. You slowly rolled over, and found Cell was up, standing in front of the window with his arms folded over his chest. The sun was shining, the storm passed.

“Good morning.” You yawned, stretching. 

He looked over his shoulder at you. “Sleep well?”

“Very well.” you kicked the sheets off you, posing yourself on the bed. “Want another round before we get ready for the day?”

He chuckled and joined you, face pressed to your neck, leaving a little love bite there. He then paused a long moment. Awkwardly long.

“Cell?”

He was stirred back into action. “I did it.” he whispered, resuming his kissing your neck as one of his large hands held your side.

You didn’t know what he was talking about, but you humored him, tilting your head to expose more of your neck to him. “What did you do?”

“I killed them.”

You shuddered, your hands moving to his shoulders. Talk about a mood killer. “What are you talking about?”

He pulled away and looked you in the eye, his gaze intense. His face split into a sneer. “I killed them. I wiped out Ginger town.

What was Ginger town?

“I killed everyone in West City.”

You knew about West City, a ghost town with only a few people lingering and salvaging tech. His grip was tighter on your side, almost painful.

“I killed Son Goku.”

Who was Goku? What was he saying?

“I killed that boy in the painting.”

You turned away from him as he leaned in closer, his eyes boring into you.

“I am the monster you all whisper about. The one who brought humanity to its knees, and the one who left them to pick up the pieces of your pathetic, worthless, imperfect race, to try and rebuild it.”

He placed a kiss on your lips. His knuckles brushing your cheek. “I am Perfect Cell, and the only reason you exist right now, is because I got bored of killing you all.”

Half of you believed him, and half of you was left confused. “Why are you telling me this?” you asked.

“Because I want you to run away scared from this place, and never come back.” He pulled away from you, off the bed, and when you blinked, he was gone.

You sat up, scared and shaking. You gathered your things, and got dressed, and you did as he wanted. You hurried back to your boat, ripped the engine fervently until it finally started, and sped back to the old rotting docks of the port.

You put his painting in the closet, and did your best to not think of him. For months you went about your life, and avoided the water. Avoided that Island. You did not know if he meant what he said, if he was telling the truth, but the fact he would say something like that just to get you away from him meant that, despite that moment you had shared together, he didn’t want you around.

Maybe he was afraid of no longer being all alone in that ruin. Those who were unused to affection often tried to push it away out of fear of losing it, or a simple fear of the affection itself.

He seemed the type to do that.

You couldn’t forget. He was in your dreams on a weekly basis. Sometimes you even dreamed of him clashing with the boy, Gohan, a clash of light between them.

A year later, you found his painting again. You looked at it, at his handsome face and intense gaze. You remembered what he had said to you.

Curiosity killed the cat.

But you knew what came after that.

You very well might have known what and who he was now, if what he said was true. But regardless, you pulled your boat out of the shed, and out onto those decaying docks. You got in, and you went back.

The sand crunched under your boots, and you made your way through the brush, up the overgrown path. The mansion looked unchanged despite the year that had passed. You stepped in, and there, in what was once the foyer, was you.

Your painting, front and center, sleeping peacefully and bare to the world.

“Well, well, well. I see the cat came back.”

You looked up and there he was at the top of the ivy covered staircase, smirking down at you. You opened your mouth, pausing only a moment.

“Curiosity might kill the cat, but satisfaction always brings it back.”


End file.
